Collisions
by Kethry47
Summary: NCIS meets Stargate, dead marines, secrets and mayhem


Normally, I don't do WIPs. In fact, I have been known to claim I hate them. I do.

"Collisions" is the result of a two-fold challenge, to do a crossover and to write with a partner, in this case G-5 from the GW fic challenge thread. When I decided to take the ficlet we'd co-worked on further, he graciously let me re-work his contribution and incorporate it into my larger story idea. Again, muchas gracias, amigo. *S* Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, RL forced me to abandon all writing projects. Now with the holidays giving me some space, I found a few stories I started back then. Maybe it's time to share what I already have and also find out if writer's block can be overcome by going public. Let me know if you'd like me to resurrect what else I had in mind when I started this.

As it is now, while the story can stand on its own, nothing is really solved. Still, I hope you can enjoy what is there. Let me know if the characters work.

**Collisions **

"It doesn't exist," McGee declared, sounding bewildered. He frowned at his computer screen. Bewilderment turned into anger as he started typing furiously. "But it _has_ to."

"What does not exist?" Ziva asked from behind her desk, putting down the book she'd been leafing through while silently mouthing words now and again. She was still memorizing stuff for her upcoming immigration exam.

"Probably his love life," Tony suggested in a voice full of undisguised glee. Grinning smugly, he swiveled his chair to face McGee. "McGeek's lost his girlfriend in there somewhere. CyberCindy was her name, wasn't it? She called up his Elf Lord profile on Facebook and was never heard from again."

"It is Cindy Zimbalist," McGee said, not looking up from his console, "And she's _not_ my girlfriend." He threw Tony a withering glance. "As you very well know. She is my accountant." He went back to typing.

"Aaaaaaha! Accountant? Is that what it's called now?" Tony's eyes gleamed. "What do you need an accountant for, McGee?" His face clouded. "Oh yes, I remember, you're a famous author now. Can't handle the royalties yourself, can you? "

McGee ignored him.

"Royalty?" Ziva asked, confused. "I didn't know McGee knew any aristocrats. And you don't have royalty in America."

"Not royalty," Tony explained. "Royalties! Money! Heaps and heaps of money that McSmarty here is getting for that book he wrote about us and apparently doesn't know what to do with."

"I've told you the book isn't about you!" McGee protested. He glared at the screen in front of him and hit the edge of his desk in frustration. "I can't find it!"

"You can't find what, McGee?" A baritone voice asked calmly from behind Tony. Gibbs walked slowly around the edge of the partition into the aisle, stopping in front of McGee's desk.

"An SGC. It doesn't exist."McGee faced Gibbs. "I've tried everything, but I keep coming up empty."The annoyance at his inability to deliver was evident.

"Oh, come on," Tony said. "Of course, it exists. Frakes told us his dead buddy got transferred there last year. You probably didn't look in the right places. Did you try Google?" he added patronizingly and turned to his own computer, entering the three letters. He grinned as a list of terms appeared on his screen in answer to his query.

"Aha! Here we go! SGC! Sonic Gems Collection – I wonder, do gems make sounds, sing songs, deliver the perfect high c?" He hummed a few notes. "And here's another one: Satellite Ground Station –didn't know satellites were on the ground; shouldn't they be up there?"

A wave of his hand vaguely indicated where he thought satellites ought to be found.

"Oh, I like this one – Server Gated Cryptography. Maybe that's what it is, and that's why you can't find it, McGee. It's encrypted!" Tony looked up, grinning triumphantly.

"If it were encrypted, I'd find it," McGee snarled back. His eyes flashed dangerously at the implied insult. "There is no section of the armed forces, open or clandestine, that I can't access or crack."

Suddenly, a guilty look passed over his features, albeit only for a fleeting second. His admission that he could, would and on occasion _had_ broken into databases that should have been safe even from the NCIS wasn't supposed to be out in the open. You never knew who'd overhear. He swallowed.

"It doesn't exist, I tell you."

"Then what _do_ we know?" Gibbs asked. He walked over to his desk and opened a slim folder that lay there.

"Lieutenant Arthur James Castelli!" Tony stood up, all business now, the playful banter forgotten. He pressed a button on the remote and the picture of a young man in Marine Corps uniform appeared on the huge screen on the wall.

The four agents gathered in a small half circle as further information windows opened on Tony's command.

"Age 28, single, third generation Italian-American, graduated with honors. Served a turn in Afghanistan, several commendations for bravery, a purple heart. Got into an ambush guarding a convoy almost on his last day there. Received a bullet in the shoulder and was evaced home subsequently. Didn't go back. However, he did join some other unit. No rap sheet, no debts, no angry jilted lovers or even traffic violations to his name. He was practically a saint." He looked at the data on the screen with disdain. "On leave for a month, though it doesn't say anywhere what or where he was on leave _from_. No current unit or deployment listed. Has family here in town, and he's been home for two days."

"He was found dead at 7 a.m. this morning by a jogger in Meridian Hill Park. Preliminary examination showed multiple stab wounds to the chest," Ziva added. "Ducky is doing the formal autopsy right now."

McGee consulted a report he himself had fed into the system only an hour ago. "According to his family and friends he was a quiet guy, didn't talk much about the job, but was quite passionate about it." He shrugged. "Whatever that may mean."

A particularly expressionless look from Gibbs caused him to redden slightly before he continued. "We talked to some of his former buddies from the corps, and one of them, Captain Steven Frankes, said that Castelli mentioned he was transferring to something called SGC in April last year, and that he seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth since then. Frankes thought it was a code name that Castelli had accidentally revealed; something he regretted afterwards. Castelli made him promise he wouldn't mention it to anyone. The captain assumed SGC stood for an undercover alphabet soup organization."

McGee looked up, adding hastily: "His words, not mine. But there _is_ no SGC," he finished emphatically.

"So, where _did_ you spend the last year, Lieutenant Castelli?" Gibbs inquired of the mute image of the dead marine.

…

"Carter?" O'Neill asked. "What's the problem?"

"Someone is trying to call up information on the SGC, and it's originating from a government agency, sir, the NCIS bureau in Washington DC," she answered.

"Navy cops? What do they want with us?" O'Neill frowned. "Did we do something?"

"We always do something, Jack." Daniel Jackson grinned. "Though I don't think we've sunk any ships lately."

He slouched in one of the chairs in Sam Carter's workspace. To the uninformed, his position looked uncomfortable; but O'Neill knew that their friend could maintain the weirdest poses for hours, seemingly without the slightest protest from his abused muscles. He shuddered inwardly.

"Considering how much secrecy we've generated over the years and how much frustration and headache that must have caused, there must be hundreds of government agencies all over the place that would like nothing better than to have a piece of us," Daniel offered.

"Whoever it is doing this is good. There are very sophisticated automatic search routines in place, combing every accessible server," Carter said. There was a hint of admiration in her voice.

""How good is good?" Daniel asked.

"Are we accessible? Any chance they can hack into our system?" O'Neill looked at Sam Carter, ignoring the archeologist. She would know, and he also trusted her to prevent any breach of the elaborate secrecy that surrounded Stargate Command. So it was a rhetorical question rather than an actual one, or so he hoped.

"Not if I can help it, sir." Carter typed in a few commands. A frown appeared on her forehead and then deepened. "Oh, no."

"What?" O'Neill spun around and took a step towards her workstation, alarmed at how upset her voice had sounded. "What is it? Don't tell me they got past you and we have to expect a horde of investigators shortly."

"Lieutenant Castelli is dead," she said tonelessly.

"Castelli? Who's he?" Daniel sat up straight. His face lost its amused expression.

"Carter?" O'Neill probed.

"Yes, sir," she answered. She moved her chair so she faced the room. "Lieutenant Castelli is one of the Atlantis contingent who returned earth side on the _Daedalus_ three days ago for leave. Apparently, he was found dead in a park in Washington this morning. He is the reason the NCIS are looking for us." She didn't bother to hide her growing dismay. "His family in Washington is stated as his contact address."

"Dammit!" O'Neill muttered to no one in particular.

…

"I know what it stands for," Tony announced. "SGC - Secret Gnome Company."

"The lieutenant was 5'8. That hardly counts as a gnome," Ziva objected.

"But it's not _really_ tall." Tony scoffed. He straightened and tried to stretch his own 6 ft 2 frame a further inch or two. "Tall is … "

"Tall is the tale your pal Frankes told you. Either that or his friend Castelli lied to him. He didn't join an SGC."

Gibbs slapped an evidence bag containing a uniform patch on the table. On a black background, the badge displayed a blue winged horse, its silver wings spread wide, rearing underneath golden letters, which spelled the word Atlantis. "Castelli's mother found this among his things. It seems to have slipped in with the wash."

"Atlantis - the shuttle? Do they have breast patches like that?" McGee went to his desk and adjusted his keyboard. His fingers danced over the keys.

"Atlantis – the lost continent, Plato's legendary island, located beyond the Pillar's of Hercules," Tony mused, lost in thought. Suddenly, he beamed. "Atlantis, the Lost Empire – Walt Disney Pictures, characters voiced by Michael J. Fox, James Garner, Leonard Nimoy, David Ogden Stiers, among others."

Before he could show off more of his knowledge of movie classics, McGee interrupted: "It's not an Atlantis Mission patch. Not even close. They look totally different."

A series of shoulder and breast patches flashed across the big screen. McGee was right; they were nothing like the one on the desk in front of them.

"So, if it is not the shuttle this patch refers to, what is it then?" Ziva's glance went from McGee to Tony in bewilderment.

"It's our job to find out," Gibbs growled. His eyes narrowed. His face didn't betray any emotion, but there was an air of determination about him that only someone who knew him well would recognize.

His team knew him very well. They exchanged a look. Somebody had just been issued a challenge and hadn't the slightest idea of what was about to hit them.

…

"Dammit, Walter, how could that happen?" Landry growled. He paced the length of the SGC control room, looking like he wanted to hit something or somebody.

Walter Harriman only shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Somebody at Peterson Air Base must have slipped up."

"That is pretty obvious, wouldn't you say?" Landry rubbed a hand through his hair. "Now how do we clear up this mess?"

"We could send SG 1," the Chief Master Sergeant offered. When Landry looked at him sharply, he added: "They are at Peterson anyway, testing the new flyer, sir. General O'Neill wanted to look in later as well, if I recall correctly."

"Get me one of them on the phone," Landry barked. "And Walter, make it quick."

"Yes, sir," Harriman answered, unperturbed. It would take more than a dead marine to shake him up, but the situation could turn nasty pretty fast, if SG 1 wasn't able to work one of their miracles.

…

"So, what do we have, Abbs?" Gibbs hardly paid the unfamiliar surroundings any attention. They didn't often work in a county coroner's office, but to his eyes the El Paso County morgue seemed to be more or less like probably every other coroner's examination room across the US. It had the usual sterile and merciless look of a place where death was the predominant feature and thus became mundane by necessity.

"According to his uniform, a dead marine," Abby replied. She bit the inside of her mouth.

"And…?" Gibbs prompted, disregarding the odd phrasing for the moment. He didn't need investigative talent to see that Abby was unhappy. What he didn't know yet was why his forensic specialist was radiating such uncharacteristic gloom. She stood next to an examination table on which the dead body of a young black male was laid out. Most of the body was covered by a sheet, so Gibbs could only hazard a guess at what it hid. If he stretched his imagination, however, he would say the young man's face bore a look of surprise, whether at the circumstances he found himself in right now or at the manner of reaching said state was anybody's guess. Apparently, Abby was reduced to guessing, too.

"I don't know," she muttered glumly, uncharacteristically subdued.

"You don't know what," Gibbs probed softly. He knew that whatever it was that was bothering her, it had to be serious. Abby was never restrained with him. Usually she bubbled with enthusiasm when she presented him with her findings.

"Anything." Abby glared down on the body. "I don't know anything." She kicked the table and lifted her eyes to him. He saw anger and was relieved. Anger was better than fear. A raised eyebrow conveyed his question to her.

"I can't tell you anything, Gibbs."

"Who is he?" Ignoring her despondent attitude, Gibbs started the familiar round of questions.

"I don't know," Abby replied, still glaring at the dead man.

"When was he killed?"

"I don't know."

"What killed him?"

"Gibbs, I don't know." Now she glared at him.

"I suppose you also don't know who killed him then, right?"

"Would I have called you if I did?" she snapped, paying no attention at his attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you see, Gibbs? This just isn't possible. I'm Abby Sciuto. I solve problems. I find out things so you can nail the bad guys. I don't fail." She looked straight into his eyes. "I don't fail you," she finished forcefully.

"You have never failed me, Abby," Gibbs reassured her. "And you never will." He smiled at her. "I'm pretty sure you know _**where**_he was found."

Slowly a smile appeared on her face. "I do." She pointed at the corpse. "_**He**_ turned up just outside Peterson Air Force Base."

"Dead as a doornail and quite a mystery," an unfamiliar male voice cut in. A man in a wind breaker that claimed the wearer to be the El Paso County Coroner walked into the room. He was in his early thirties, with laughter lines around his eyes and a deep frown between them. "Evidence says that it was also the place where he died."

Gibbs looked at Abby.

"Bobby, this is Gibbs." She smiled at the newcomer. "Gibbs, meet Bobby, ahem, Robert Brannick . He's the reason you are here."

When Gibbs' glance turned into a silent question, she added. "Bobby is the El Paso County coroner's assistant."

Gibbs nodded a greeting. Bobby, ahem, Brannick returned the nod.

"I told you I'd been invited to Colorado Springs to speak at the conference on forensic science, Gibbs, didn't I?"

"You did." In the inside pocket of his jacket, he carried the sheet of paper with the list of contact instructions she'd pressed on him before leaving, so he would be able to find her should he need her.

"Well, we met there and got to … talking." Abby didn't quite stumble over the word, but it was a close thing. It took a bit of an effort for Gibbs to hold his smile back. "Then, when he was called out to examine the dead body he asked me to come along." She beamed from one man to the other. "And I asked you."

"And here I am." This time Gibbs couldn't help returning her smile. She always had that effect on him. Though the smile did not last long. "What exactly is going on with your mystery man?" Briefly, they all three studied the dead man speculatively.

"We can't determine a cause of death," Brannick answered. "Abby and I have tested him to a fare-the-well, but nada. We know he's dead, but how he got to be in that state is anybody's guess at the moment." He looked just as frustrated as Abby. "And to muddy the waters a bit more, Peterson has clammed up on his identity."

"Have they?"

"Yes, we can't even identify him by his prints. The database says it's classified information."

"Classified?"

"Yes, and…" Abby hesitated. She squared her shoulders and looked at Gibbs with a grimace. "It's so highly classified even I can't break into the files," she finally admitted. The insult of that seemed to hurt most.

Brannick cleared his throat. "And now they have started making pretty nasty noises," he added.

When Gibbs cocked his head at him, he explained: "They want the body."

"They do?" Gibbs frowned.

"Yes," Abby said. "They say it's their jurisdiction."

"The hell it is!"

At Gibbs' words, a brilliant smile lit up Abby's face. She bounced once. "See, I told you so." Her voice showed deep satisfaction. She grinned at Brannick. "Gibbs will settle this."

"Or not," another unfamiliar male voice said. A tall, dark-haired man stood in the doorway. His uniform bore the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel.

"Who're you?" Abby blurted. Her face mirrored surprise and growing suspicion in equal parts.

"Cameron Mitchell, ma'am," Mitchell answered with a nod and a slow smile. "United States Air Force," he added when he saw three pairs of eyes move to the insignia on his flight dress shirt.

"Lt. Colonel," Gibbs evenly acknowledged his rank. Mitchell nodded again, still smiling.

"What do you want?" Gibbs asked bluntly.

"Him," Mitchell answered equally bluntly, indicating the dead body. The smile no longer hovered around his lips. His body straightened almost imperceptibly, and suddenly there was a hint of steel underlying his formerly easy-going posture. He hadn't come to leave without achieving his goal.

Neither had Gibbs.

"Forget it!"

"I don't think so."

Brown eyes locked with grey ones.

Gibbs' face could have been a mask, betraying nothing. Neither did Mitchell's.

Abby's head swiveled from one expressionless face to the other. It looked like a stand-off.

Until a bottomless bass broke the tableau: "Do you require assistance, Colonel Mitchell?"

Mitchell's head turned slightly to look back over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he took a step inside to make room for the owner of the deep voice. A shadow appeared in the door, blocking out most of the outside light. Now, whereas Mitchell's stab at looming had only been that, an attempt at best, this man was born to loom. He effortlessly filled the doorway; his shoulders brushed both sides of the doorframe, his head barely cleared its upper frame. He was packed with muscle. A black cap was pulled down low over his forehead.

"Don't know, T," Mitchell answered. "Do I?" There was no challenge in his question. Briefly his gaze touched on Gibbs' stony glare, before settling on Brannick. "You're the coroner here?"

"Yes, ahem, assistant coroner."

"Then I'd like you to hand over the body of this man, complete with all the evidence you and your people have collected, as well as every sample, test result and file of any examination you may have already conducted."

"Ahem," Brannick licked his lips. He looked at Gibbs. "On whose authority?"

"Would you believe, the President's?"

"Ah, and what president would that be, may I ask?" Tony's familiar voice filtered around the huge shape that still blocked the door. "Hi boss. Can't see you, but I'm assuming you're in there, right?"

"Tony, you're here!"

"Sure Abbs, you called, we came."

Outside, a car door slammed. Another, more forceful slam followed.

Mitchell didn't even blink. "The President of the United States of America, the man who ultimately pays your salary as well as mine."

"Boss?"

Gibbs considered Mitchell again. The colonel's body language conveyed no threat, only quiet self-confidence.

"I think not."

"Really?"

The threat was subtle, but it was there.

"Oh please." A female voice interrupted the impending tug-of-war. A tall, blond woman shouldered her way in. Or rather, the massive "T" made way for her. There was no way she could have moved that rock. She also wore a flight dress adorned with a colonel's insignia. Her gaze took in the impasse inside the mortuary.

"Why don't we all step outside for a moment and review the situation calmly?" she suggested.

Gibbs looked at her. "And you would be?"

"Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter."

Gibbs nodded an almost imperceptible greeting. Briefly, he seemed to consider her suggestion before he motioned for her to precede them outside.

The anteroom to the morgue was light and spacious, but it appeared to be crowded with the five people already inside it, and now, with six more bodies filing in, it felt even more confined. It didn't help that there seemed to be a lot of attitude floating around as well.

"Hi boss." Gibbs was greeted by a beaming Tony who tried his best to hide his suspicions. McGee and Ziva stood at his side, looking for all the world as if they were attending a party, while at the same time staying well away from the man and woman who had arranged themselves just as carelessly against the wall opposite them.

Gibbs gave the scene a fleeting glance and then looked at Carter. She indicated the two strangers: "Our team." At a snort from Tony she added: "Daniel, Vala and Teal'c." The last with a flick of her head at the mysterious "T".

"No, really?" Tony didn't try to mask the irony. He elbowed McGee. "Sounds almost like a remake of The Three Stooges, doesn't it?"

"DiNozzo."

"Sorry, boss."

"Well?"Gibbs turned his attention back to Carter.

"Your job is over now, Special Agent," Carter said gently, trying not to aggravate the situation. "We are taking over."

Gibbs just tilted his head slightly and gave the colonel a stare. Flowers would have wilted as the bare room outside the morgue seemed to grow colder by several degrees.

"A marine has been killed outside a high security Air Force base. That means my job is just starting," he said quietly, but with a hint of steel in his voice.

At the same time, Tony piped up with: "And who exactly _are_ you?"

"Look, Gibbs, there are things above your pay grade. We have the situation, we can handle it," Mitchell said a little less diplomatically, ignoring DiNozzo. The colonel had ambled over to a spot next to the exit, where he now stood leaning against the wall, arms folded. His pose exuded not only confidence, but also a slight arrogance, and, whether deliberate or not, it was definitely starting to grate on the other special agents in the room.

"I smell a cover-up," Tony muttered to Ziva. "Stranger and stranger."

"Tell me why the marine doesn't exist," Gibbs asked Carter directly, ignoring both Mitchell and DiNozzo.

"Need to know." Mitchell replied anyway.

Gibbs glanced over to Mitchell with what his team recognized s one of _those_ looks – the ones that could freeze a snake in place. Mitchell kept eye contact for just a moment, before dropping his gaze. He wasn't naturally a disrespectful man and certainly didn't want the situation to escalate, but the NCIS agents had annoyed him by turning up so quickly and en masse. Besides, he was sure the dead marine was part of a much larger problem, one that would involve him pretty soon in a different capacity and he didn't feel like indulging the NCIS or anybody right now. He was worried and trying not to show it.

"I think you'll find in a case of a murdered marine, I'm the one who needs to know, Colonel," Gibbs said gently, but still with that hint of a veiled threat.

"Agent Gibbs, there is more going on here than you know. We need you to leave now, please," Carter insisted, trying her hardest not to sound antagonistic.

"Look, we have equipment and data in that room that we would like to get out. Whatever you say, you can't stop us from doing that," Tony said. He was testing the waters and he knew it, but he wanted to see how far those people were willing to go.

"All information pertaining to this case is now classified and Eyes Only. I'm sorry," Carter continued.

Tony sneered and walked towards the door leading back into the morgue. Teal'c stepped quickly in front of him.

"Oh, big tough guy act. Right," Tony said, rolling his eyes. Teal'c was a tall man, but only an inch or two taller than Tony, who, as usual, presented his front of blasé and stupid jerk that made others underestimate him. The agent tried to shoulder past the big Jaffa.

There was a solid thump as Tony hit the ground, ass first.

"What the hell...?"

Teal'c simply smiled one of his enigmatic smiles, arms still folded.

There was a rustle of metal against leather as Ziva pulled her gun out. She was, though she would never admit it, fiercely protective of Tony.

McGee, who'd strangely been silent the whole time, did the same. Abby backed up behind Gibbs with a little squeal. Tough and determined as she was, she was not a frontline agent.

In response, four hands automatically reached to draw unseen side arms, but only Vala actually pulled her zat from inside her uniform blouse; the rest of SG1 managed to avoid alerting the NCIS agents to how strange their outfit _really_ was.

"What the hell is _that_?" McGee blurted in shock at seeing the unfamiliar weapon unfold with a distinctive sound.

"Calm. Down." Gibbs said, directed at his own people more than anyone else. He ignored the weapon.

"I agree!" a commanding voice barked from the doorway. Instinctively, everyone turned, but still kept their weapons up.

Standing in the door, framed against the light from outside, was a tall, uniformed figure. He wore his general's uniform smartly, but almost with reluctance, as if he wasn't sure it fit him.

"General O'Neill!" Carter sounded surprised, but pleased to see the higher ranking officer.

"Do I have to spell it out? Weapons down."

As the door closed behind O'Neill's back, the small window next to it showed more uniforms approaching in his wake. McGee's left eyebrow rose in surprise. His gun didn't waver, though.

Vala lowered her zat, shrugging at O'Neill with a grimace that might have almost been apologetic. The NCIS team kept their weapons pointed, until Gibbs gave them a nod. Their Glocks came down slowly, the suspicion stayed. Tony struggled to rise and holster his weapon at the same time.

"Special Agent Gibbs, we need to talk," General O'Neill said. "This here is, ahem, well, more than it seems. A lot more. And are some important facts that might change your mind."

Gibbs looked O'Neill straight in the eyes. "And, those would be? Sir?"

The general gestured to the door, his graying hair catching the light. There was a black sedan outside.

"Boss?" McGee asked, unsure of the way events were unfolding.

"And my team?" Gibbs continued on as if he hadn't spoken.

"They stay here, with my people, as my guests. Mitchell?"

"Sir?"

"Order them some food. They may be here a while." O'Neill sighed. "And find a seat, all of you."

Mitchell looked skeptical for a moment, but the expression on Jack's face silenced all questions.

At the same time, the thought ran quickly through McGee's head that always seemed to be able to dispense looks that said more than a hundred words. He still wasn't sure how Gibbs did it, but with several years' practice behind him, he was now at least getting better at interpreting his boss. Mitchell didn't seem to have any problem reading the general's look, which spoke of a long relationship between the two men as well.

Gibbs put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked out with O'Neill, past the two smartly dressed USAF officers who'd appeared guarding the outside door.

"Keep safe, Gibbs," Abbey said with worry.

Gibbs simply scrutinized both the buildings and the men arrayed in front of them. At O'Neill's waved invitation, he got into the backseat of the car. With no further ado, Jack took the seat next to him, and the car drove away, leaving a motley crew and an uneasy truce behind.

"Shall we?" Mitchell said, trying to sound polite. He gestured to the table that still separated the two teams.

"Oh, let's," Tony muttered, while his eyes briefly followed the disappearing limousine.

Vala bounced over to a small settee and settled down, patting the space beside her with an inviting smile. Daniel and Carter chose a chair each, while Teal'c just remained where he was.

Cautiously, McGee and Ziva followed SG-1's example. Bewildered and overrun by events, Brannick and Abby looked at each other, until Abby shrugged and pulled Brannick over to the NCIS side of the room, where they also grabbed a couple of chairs. Vala's pout was ignored.

"Pizza anyone?"

…

"He isn't going to come back any sooner just because you keep staring at the road, you know," Daniel Jackson said conversationally. If there were a heat sensor in the room and if anyone were to check it, Daniel was sure it would indicate a moderate room temperature; the room just _felt_ hot. The two groups still kept meticulously to their sides. Discarded pizza cartons and an assortment of soft drink containers covered the large table – by unspoken mutual accord a neutral zone.

"So he is coming back, is he?" Tony growled. He had moved his chair so he could watch the road through one of the windows.

"Of course, he is. Just what do you think we are, the military version of the Cosa Nostra?" Daniel answered with a sigh. "We don't make people disappear."

"Could have fooled me," McGee muttered. He looked up. "Then why couldn't Abby find any information on the dead guy?"

"Yeah, you people really did a Jimmy Hoffa on _him_." Tony leaned back, waiting for anyone to react to his barb. Ziva didn't blink, but Tony knew her well enough to know that she'd be asking for an explanation later; Vala looked openly puzzled; Jackson, Carter and Mitchell wore various expressions of disgust and Teal'c simply _stood_.

"Our guy's here, next door, isn't he?" Sam asked patiently. She wasn't about to get into an argument.

"And no one's found Jimmy Hoffa yet, right?" Daniel added. He tried his engaging smile again. It hadn't worked in the two hours before, but he seldom gave up, and when he did, it wasn't for lack of trying.

"Maybe we have," Tony suggested pointedly. He was still hoping to draw something out of one of them; he'd settle for anything, any kind of reaction that would give him an opening into what was going on. The forced inactivity was grating on his nerves. General's stars or not, Gibbs had been gone for too long. They'd all been polite to each other, disgustingly so. Something had to give soon – or better, someone. If it did, Tony was ready.

"Jimmy Hoffa?" Vala asked. Her head swiveled from one group to the other. Her attempts at bonding with either Ziva or McGee had been met with icy looks and stony silence or rather embarrassed mumbling on Tim's side.

"Guy who disappeared mysteriously and hasn't been found yet," Mitchell supplied evenly. "Everybody thinks he's dead, murdered by the mob."

"Oh, we have those as well, don't we?" Vala said, happy she could finally contribute something.

"No, we don't," Sam said. The tone of her voice was a conversation stopper.

Impasse again.

Until Vala said not quite sotto voce: "Didn't Lieutenant what's-his-name turn up dead as well?"

Immediately, Tony pounced on the morsel of information they evidently hadn't been supposed to overhear: "Sounds like you have personnel dropping dead all over the place. Don't you think it's high time you did something about that?"

"Like what?" Daniel stood up, stretched and leaned against the wall on the SG side. He tried to look bored. After a moment's thought, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

McGee, who had taken to pacing a while earlier, took a step forward. "Like let the professionals deal with."

Mitchell only raised an eyebrow. "Professionals? Oh, you mean _you_?"

"That would be a start." Tony didn't rise to the veiled insult. This was more than a mere power play. His eyes narrowed as he searched for a repartee. The remark about a dead lieutenant had him wondering if the dead marine they had left in Washington wasn't somehow tied up with what was going on here as well. He didn't think lieutenants turned up dead as a habit. So another one would be stretching the imagination a bit too far. In his experience, so-called coincidences seldom were coincidental.

"That black car is coming back," Ziva said quietly. She had never stopped watching the road.

Everybody looked to the entrance - except Teal'c. His eyes stayed on the NCIS agents. The tension rose. So did Tony. He pushed his chair back and casually walked over to the door. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched the other group. They didn't seem especially worried. Which in turn worried him.

Gibbs opened the door and preceded O'Neill into the room.

"Hey boss," Tony grinned. "Glad to have you back – and in one piece." He took a step in Gibbs' direction. The expression on Gibbs' face stopped him in his tracks.

Abby, McGee and Ziva clustered around, relieved to see their team leader hale even if not quite hearty.

"Gibbs, can we…" Abby started hopefully, but a hand signal from Gibbs silenced her in mid-sentence.

"Let's pack up. We're leaving."

"But Gibbs…"

"Boss!"

"What? Why?"

Only Ziva didn't say anything. She merely took a look at Gibbs' face. It seemed to tell her enough. She started walking towards the door.

"But, but … GIBBS!"

"We're leaving, Abbs. I'm sorry."

Gibbs focused on Abby, but his glance seemed to encompass all of his team. The protests died down.

An unspoken question passed between Tony and McGee. Then Tony shrugged. "If you say so, boss." He walked past Gibbs, blew Abby a kiss and opened the door. "Bye Abbs, see you in DC. Coming, McGee?"

With a confused glance at Gibbs, McGee followed Tony.

"General."

"Gibbs."

Gibbs expression never changed. He nodded at Carter and Mitchell while he watched his team file out of the room and walk towards their car. A step brought him close to Abby. He enveloped her in a brief hug and kissed her on the forehead. "Enjoy the rest of your conference, Abbs."

Then he was the last one out through the door.

Abby looked after them forlornly. "Gibbs," she whispered.

SG 1 did not look happy. Except maybe for Vala, whose vocabulary didn't include the word embarrassment.

"Let's take … ahem … our man home." O'Neill said to the room at large.

"Indeed."

And here it endeth for now. As for the missing solutions, who killed those marines and why, what O'Neill told Gibbs to make him back off, whether Gibbs et al will really leave things be – that's what I have mapped out in chapters 2-4. They just need to be written. Yeah. So, there is still hope.


End file.
